


To cure a cold

by elxetera



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caretaker Crowley, Colds, Fluff, M/M, Sick Aziraphale, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/pseuds/elxetera
Summary: In which Aziraphale mysteriously comes down with a cold and Crowley offers care and support.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 105





	To cure a cold

Aziraphale is an angel. Aziraphale is ethereal. He is not human, which therefore means he does _not_ get sick. Or ill. It is simply Not a Thing That Happens. 

Which is why it is puzzling (and frankly very alarming) when Aziraphale begins to sneeze every two minutes. He is taken aback. Angels do not sneeze. At first he thinks that perhaps it had been some sort of spring allergy that has been causing the tickle in his nose, but angels did not get allergies. They didn’t sneeze. Which only left one possibility...but why on earth was he getting sick? 

Aziraphale rubs his nose and hurries over to his phone on the desk, ringing Crowley’s number. He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Aziraphale.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped. “I am...I think I’m...sick!” 

There is a pause. “You can’t _get_ sick, angel,” he replies as though it is obvious. 

“That is my point, Crowley,” Aziraphale huffed. “But I think I _am_ sick, or at least I’m getting to that point.” 

Crowley sighs. “Right, I’m coming over there now.” 

“No, that’s okay, you don’t have to,” says Azirpaphale in a rush. “If I am sick, don’t you think there is a chance you could get sick too?” 

“Hell, who cares?” Crowley replies, and then hangs up. Aziraphale stands there for a minute, and then sits at his desk, pulling out a large novel. He reads a paragraph, but his mind doesn’t retain any of the storyline. He reads it again. _I can’t get sick,_ Aziraphale thinks, _I’m an angel._

 _Well, evidently you can,_ says the mini Crowley inside of his brain. His head is beginning to hurt. 

He does not like this. _Crowley, hurry up,_ Aziraphale thinks. 

As if on cue, the Bentley roars up the road and comes to a perfect stop right outside the book shop. Crowley swaggers out of the car and in through the front doors. 

“Oh, yes, you do look awful,” Crowley says upon looking at Aziraphale. The angel rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he says dryly. 

“So? What’s up?” Crowley asks expectantly. 

“I’m sick,” Aziraphale deadpans. 

“Elaborate, will you?” says Crowley. 

“I’ve been sneezing all morning. My head is aching now—” he coughs slightly— “and now I’m coughing, it seems.” 

Crowley sticks his nose in the air. 

“Yeah, yeah, maybe don’t be sick all over me,” he says. 

“Sorry,” says Aziraphale, blushing. 

Crowley waves his hand. “S’fine.” 

“My headache is getting worse,” Aziraphale says, wincing. 

“Hm.” Crowley saunters past the angel and scans the long rows of bookshelves. “You must have some medical books in here, right?” he asks. 

“Somewhere,” Aziraphale says with a vague gesture. He is feeling very light-headed. 

Crowley slumps. He doesn’t have time to look through Aziraphale piles of bound paper with words printed on them. He snaps his fingers and a book appears before him. He peers over the top of his sunglasses. 

Headache, stuffy nose, coughing. “Looks like you have a cold, Angel,” Crowley concludes, snapping the book shut. Aziraphale jumps at the noise. 

“A—a cold?” he replies shakily. 

Crowley nods. “Here,” he shoves the book under Aziraphale’s nose, pointing to the paragraph listing symptoms. 

“Yes, it appears I do,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley puts the book away and turns back to Aziraphale, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you know how to cure it?” he asks. 

Aziraphale shakes his head. “I’ve never been sick. Of course I don’t know how to cure it,” he says, his tone slightly tetchy. “Sorry,” he adds quickly. 

“No, fair enough,” Crowley replies. He whips his mobile phone from his pocket, flicking his finger along the screen. He bites his bottom lip before shoving the phone away and marching up the stairs towards Aziraphale’s kitchen. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale calls after him, his voice hoarse. His throat feels all scratchy. 

“One minute!” 

The demon returns a moment later with a glass of cool (but not terribly icy) water. “Drink,” he orders. Aziraphale obeys. The liquid feels good against the uncomfortable rawness in the back of his mouth. 

“Hydration is key, according to Google,” Crowley explains as Aziraphale gulps down the rest of the water. 

“What’s Google?” asks Aziraphale, brow furrowed. 

“Think of it like a large book, for anything and everything. Giving you answers to all your questions within seconds.” 

“Sounds nice.” 

“It is. For the most part,” Crowley adds. 

He leads Aziraphale up the stairs, gripping his hand in order to keep him steady. He can tell the angel is getting tired. 

“Up you go,” Crowley murmurs. “Bedroom?” he asks. 

“Down there,” Aziraphale says, and points down a narrow hallway. He lets Crowley lead him to bed, and watches as he pulls the covers back. “In,” Crowley says, helping Aziraphale remove his coat. 

Aziraphale relaxes against the pillows, failing to keep himself from smiling as Crowley fluffs each one. He tucks the covers snugly around Aziraphale’s body and stands back. “Comfortable?” he asks. 

“Very,” Aziraphale replies with an appreciative grin. 

“Right. Would you like some soup? I’m sure I could throw something together,” Crowley offers. 

Aziraphale shakes his hand. “Maybe later, dear. I’m quite tired.” 

“Oh. Okay. Maybe try to sleep a bit. I’ll be in the other room when you wake up.” 

Aziraphale shifts down so he is underneath the covers slightly more. “Haven’t slept in…I don’t remember how long, really.” 

Crowley chuckles. “Just relax.” 

“Lay with me?” Aziraphale mumbles. Crowley glances to the side, his cheeks growing red. He looks back to the angel, who’s blue eyes are shimmering with unsaid pleas. 

“Alright,” Crowley relents, and kicks his shoes off. “Budge over,” he grumbles as he slides underneath the sheets. He glances over at Aziraphale, who is red faced and a mess, but otherwise looking far too pleased with himself. Crowley has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. 

Crowley settles on his back, his nose pointed up at the ceiling. With a swift snap of his fingers, the lights are off and curtains are closed. “Sleep well, angel,” he whispers, letting his eyes drift shut. He vaguely feels Aziraphale snuggle closer to him as he drifts off to sleep, content.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! This is actually my VERY FIRST fic for the Good Omens fandom, which I just joined a little while ago! I hope you liked it!! Any comments or kudos would make me super happy!  
> 


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